Stalking Secrets
by EriksEvilTwin
Summary: Anne Rule and others write some of the most compelling true crime novels. Stephen King tantalizes us with amazing horror fiction. In 1910 a novel containing the best elements of both was published under the guise of general fiction. Is Phantom of the ope
1. Chapter 1

Anne Rule and others write some of the most compelling true crime novels. Stephen King tantalizes us with amazing horror fiction. In 1910 a novel containing the best elements of both was published under the guise of general fiction. Is Phantom of the opera by Gaston Leroux possibly the grandfather of the modern true crime novel…and if so is there more to the story? One day a man finds a multitude of lost secrets. They convince him of the historical context of Leroux's manuscript. Now he struggles with the decision of releasing them to the public.

This is the first piece I've written that I've unleashed on the public…through any medium. I was posting on POTO but there were some technical difficulties. I hope all enjoy and any comments are welcome. Thank you.

First of all as to rating. Honestly, I'm unsure I write as some painters paint…I open my supplies and go to town looking away just long enough for the reality based reference to come into view just enough to consult it. I know for sure that there will be violence and at times some language. If it happens to come up, pertinent to this story as I write there might be a love seen or two. So on rating I'm going to play it safe and say NC-17 or R and try to hold it within those guidelines and ask everyone to use your common sense while reading and not stray into areas that may tend to offend you.

I stole this idea from PhantomEMT and she knows that I'm going to implement it. I kinda scoffed at her a little, because it's like "Come on are people really that stupid." But then again as she hoisted my petard and returned, "If people weren't stupid you and I would both be out of jobs." I do a lot of things which might get referenced in any work, fact or fiction, that I might write. So not to offend anyone but to CMA.

**DISCLAIMER ALERT: ATTENTION, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TRY ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVE READ IN THE PROCEEDING CHAPTER OR ANY PRECEDING CHAPTERS! I WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU ACTIONS!!**

I hope true crime readers, horror readers, above all phantom phans (**Please don't hate me for what I have in store for Erik**), and just everybody has a phantastic journey. Please enjoy.

Also props to Phantom EMT. I had the story started and had given it direction and knew where I was going with it, but no clue as to title. No fear guys, she's chosen not to be clued in to far in advance, she'd much rather be pleasantly surprised. We had a brainstorming session one night online tossing ideas back and forth and it was actually she who titled this work. It came out of her mouth, it fit, and I liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday

4 January 2005

2240

HOLY SHIT! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!

Not that I accept it as such yet but if what I learned today is fact it, is stupendous. The evidence, which I viewed with my own eyes, meets standards but is far from proof beyond a reasonable doubt. It is enough for probable cause for further investigation, and still I'm having trouble accepting just that standard because of the "earth shattering" nature of things. I could very well be standing on the key to one of the largest debates in world history. If these documents are real then they could, possibly, be as unlikely to be found and brought forward as the signed, sealed, and on delivery authenticated confession from the assassin of a former president. I hesitate to say just what I found yet, but will explore the nature of it.

It seems that in the late nineteenth century some remarkable events occurred at the Garnier opera house in Paris France. Following this in the early twentieth century Gaston Lereoux produced a novel which asserted that the rumors of an opera ghost were fact, not fiction. Sadly the text was printed as a fictional novel. I read it some time ago and it always tickled my fancy that it might be the grandfather to the true crime novel if the events were historically accurate. And even today the debate rages, did Erik (O.G., P.O.TO.), Christine, and Mme Giry exist and did these events occur or was M. Leroux delusional? That the De' Chagney's existed and that one was found drowned near the lake under the opera house is a matter of historical fact and public record. On my word, if I just suspect, the matter may forever more remain debate. Should I be satisfied, to the standard of a preponderance of the evidence, then I shall release the documents and let the world decide.

I came into the possession of a great number of documents on the issue and certain pieces of evidence today. I will employ my investigative talent. Should I authenticate the pieces and documents and become convinced I swear I will release them. Accepted for face value the information I received today indicates a historical event. Given the historical event I know, not only what happened but, another side of the story to use to distil truth…or close to it. I also, given that these documents are authentic, true, and accurate know that not only did Erik, tragically it seems, parish shortly after these events…but who assassinated him and who was ultimately responsible.

R.C.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robert Cleary leaned back from the computer sighing and hit the button which saved the private journal entry. He hated prim and proper but somehow, even when he consciously tried not to, that was the way he always wrote in his personal journal. It didn't matter, no one would ever see it but him. Rob hid the file, and shut the computer down.

Pulling off his badge, sidearm, and cuff case he nestled them into their accustomed spots on the shelf slightly over his right shoulder. He'd already ran and worked out and had about an hour of personal time before he had to be in bed. As he left his home office his intent was to find his copy of Phantom of the Opera by M. Leroux and give it a read through before he did anything else with regard to his find that day.


	3. Chapter 3

**XXX**

It had been a rough week for Robert Cleary. His Grandfather, rest his soul, had been quite a character. He was known in the neighborhood as the guy not to bother without reason because he didn't answer the door without a shotgun in his hands. Typically he left other people alone and expected the same in return. If the police had to go out there for some reason, they sent Robert. But the loner mean streak aside, he did have a wild side. This is how he came to pass on in the late evening Friday or early morning Saturday. Happy flipping New Years. Rob wanted the lab results because he knew his grandfather would never have made such a stupid mistake if he were entirely sober. But as family he wasn't entitled to them and couldn't argue with his supervisor's decision not to give them to him. Apparently dear old grand-dad had decided to bungee jump in the middle of the night. This was just something he would do, on a whim, in the middle of the night. He'd forgotten to secure the rope and didn't bounce until he hit the ground. The old man had a good run though. If he'd made it to February he'd have turned ninety four.

They had laid him to rest Monday. That had been quite a spectacle in and of its self. He had always thought that the old man had been kidding about his funeral arrangements. Of course Rob couldn't get that lucky, when he opened the safe to get the will, the device was there as well. To the abject horror of the rest of the family he had buried him per the instructions he put in the will ages ago. At the showing Sunday every time somebody used the word "natural" within certain proximity of the casket the old mans voice barked, "Natural, hell! I'm dead!" It also said other, a bit worse, things in response to certain key words. When one little boy discovered what he could make the corpse "say" in response to his ex-wife's name he stood there and uttered it repeatedly until his parents dragged him out. The old man had been entitled to a military burial, but didn't want one. He'd rather have a petting zoo, and a troop of clowns to act as pall bearers. Rob followed the will to the letter and feared he may have truly offended someone, but it was what the old man wanted. Then again maybe the real reason for others had an attitude was that Rob was the sole beneficiary of the will.  
As Rob leaned against the wall of the shower and let the water massage his back he realized he had taken a full week of leave, from Sunday to Sunday. And it was only Tuesday. Today he had to seriously look at taking care of his grandfathers, rather his now, house and rambling collection of little oddities. Not that his grandfather was a packrat, he just had a lot of stuff and liked the curious. He didn't know about living there himself but it would get him out of the apartment he shared with two other cops. Then Jim would have his own room like Laura. When Rob got out he got dressed and headed over to the house.

Just turning into the driveway could be a staggering experience if you weren't used to it. The property was positively huge, approximately 500 acres, and as the surrounding forest had been leveled and the town grew up around it, a ten foot high brick wall had gone up around three sides. The back had been left open as it bordered federally protected forest. There was an impressive wrought iron gate in each of the three walls. Rob pulled through the one at the front of the property which was always left open. Rob was a little more security conscious, but changing that would do no good as the back of the property was open. The gates on each side of the road were guarded by frighteningly real lion's. They looked so real because his granddad, Hans Schmidt by name, hadn't gone with concrete or metal. When he'd been younger, he'd hunted these two lions and had them stuffed. The same could be said of the bears at the west gate and the cougars at the east. At one time these animals had intimidated and frightened Rob but were now just part of the scenery.

A relatively short drive brought Rob to where the roads merged and funneled into a spectacular circular drive through a courtyard in front of the house. Turning off to the right, either before or after the courtyard, would have led to less conspicuous entrances. At this point, he really didn't care. No one was there to see how he entered the house.  
Parking in front of the walkway and entrance to the grand foyer, Rob glanced up as he exited his truck, and again marveled at the house. The house, mansion if you will, was a master stonemason's wet dream. Constructed of river rock, with wood decks and accents, it stood four and a half stories. Yet it was, on the flip side, a circus ringmaster or Carnies center piece. Despite how simple the layout was, it was a true maze to anyone lost inside.  
Rob had once won a contest between the grandkids, because he could get from point A to point B without trouble. The first two stories were mystically intertwined, but you could only get to the third story from the first and the fourth floor, from the second. The only access to the last half story or flat, deck, roof was from the fourth floor at different points. And, save an outside door, there were only two access points to the cellars. The pantries behind the kitchen, or a curious slide from the third floor. The two towers, with a connecting widow's walk, were a complete mystery to all save Rob and Hans. Now Hans was gone. If truth were told it was quite simple, one could be accessed through the cellars and one through an entrance on the fourth floor. They then connected at the widows walk. Each tower stood six stories but the majority of space was taken up with spiral stairs, with little storerooms to the center.

Rob unlocked the front door and stepped through to a glorious foyer which soared to gabled ceilings level with those of the second story. This was an exceptionally dark area for the size and lighting, there was a spectacular chandelier centered on the ceiling. Hans had once told him that it was his own creation and that he had been trying to duplicate the famed chandelier from the Garnier in France. From the pictures Rob had seen, the old man had come pretty close. The walls were a dark haunting off green, nearly blackish, color and the wood joists, supports, trim, and wainscoting were a highly burnished walnut. The floor was a dark, indescribable, off brown marble which varied and shifted in shade as you stepped across it. From the balcony around the second floor level, a picture was visible in the marble of the floor if you were looking for it. Rob shuddered to think of it. Hans had admitted that he had not been seeing things, but told him not to worry about it, when he had ask. Even with the chandelier and faux sconces blazing the room just remained dark with the assorted wall hangings in shadow. There was also no central stairway, only muted entranceways around the room, though there was a central door at the back where two stairways met outside the room.

Rob walked to the center of the foyer, drinking the room in, and letting his thoughts wander. Knowing the man, knowing the maze, but not knowing the game, Robert was slightly worried about his first task. He tapped the pocket of his windbreaker, feeling the note, but not taking it out to look at it again, still being able to visualize every detail. It had been among the will and other documents he'd had to retrieve from the safe on hearing the news of Hans' death. Odd in this day and age it was written with a calligraphy type pen on parchment, odder still it was closed with a wax seal.

At the center of the room Robert hung his head and fought the urge to cry. Damn it he was a grown man, not a lost and lonely little boy. Hans had been a gamer, in everything; there were Christmas' that his grandkids had been kicked loose in the house with instructions to find their gifts. Now it was time for the final game or hunt, at this point Robert wasn't quite sure. He pulled the sealed square of parchment from his pocket and looked at it. The seam was sealed with an old fashioned wax seal, black in color and depicting what appeared to be an archer and a beggar. Over the seam it said,  
For Robert…Open when you assume the family manor.

Robert broke the seal, and opened the note. His eyes began to read…

Robert,

The great secret to life which no one really wants to accept is that it ends. At some point we all pass on, if you are reading this I have. I have chosen you to assume the fortune of this family, and the secrets. With great privilege comes great responsibility my boy. No one else is ready to deal with the truth of how our family built its fortune. Your father knows more than most, alas he has passed and I imagine we are sharing a game of chess about now. I cannot instruct, or force, you to keep our secrets, a secret. I can only point out that I have. Now is the time that you know the truth. Sadly, my grandfather was an unimaginable monster, and our fortune begins with him and his acts. Retrieve the ring of "spooky keys," you know which keys I speak of, from my desk in the den. Go to the west tower, to the very top, to the room I keep locked, even from you. Begin your path to the truth. With all love and respect...  
Hans

Fighting the urge to cry harder, now, Rob walked to the back of the foyer and exited the central door. He wanted so much to start looking around and deciding what should be kept, what should be sold, what should be sent to auction. Pops had left specific instructions, and one last hunt. Rob always listened to Hans.

Making his way to the den which was just off the library, Rob straightened his thoughts out and made himself focus. Hans' games were always interesting, but they could get, at times, dangerous. As far as he knew, he was the only family member to ever be allowed in the west tower. The times he had been, he was closely supervised by Hans at the time, and had never been allowed in the uppermost room. Rob knew exactly which keys Hans had meant. When he got to the den, he ignored the room and went straight to an ancient roll top desk which was standing open.

In the upper cubby-hole he found a ring of keys, some modern and some, well, ancient. He'd discovered these, originally, as a boy of twelve. After Hans had panicked, he had taken Rob and shown him the west tower, which contained some strange, mystical, and some quite scary items. Hans had also absolutely forbid him to ever try to enter the uppermost room. Now he was being instructed to enter and learn.

Leaving the den, Rob went to the kitchen. At the back of the kitchen, there was a huge pantry; for the most part it was unused. The room had endless shelving, numerous coolers and freezers, and in one corner, a small wine cellar. Near the wine racks was a trap door which was never shut. The stairs beneath led down to a vast many roomed basement that almost seemed carved out of the stones it was constructed from.

Pulling a stinger flashlight out of the holster on his ankle, Rob made his way down the stairs. When he got there, Rob unlocked the door that as far as he knew, he was the only relative that Hans allowed through. Rob climbed to the very top. His heart rate quickened. The closest he had been to actually entering this room, was also the closest he'd ever been to Hans striking him too prevent it. Checking the lock he saw that it was far from modern. The ring of keys only held one skeleton key large enough to open a door. Holding his breath Rob unlocked the door, and stepped through.

For being forbidden to enter this room since he'd learned of its existence, it was a massive let down. It was an eighteen foot diameter circular vault with two windows. The shutter was broke and drooping away from one window and the stairs spiraling up to the door which let out on the widows walk graced the wall. Other than that, the room appeared to be empty. Then Rob's eye fell on the massive, ancient, trunk setting in the exact center of the room.  
Rob couldn't take his eyes off the trunk, and he was getting cold from the inside.

Shivering Rob clicked the stinger on, and aimed it at the trunk. Rob slowly edged closer to the trunk getting colder as he went. GEEZ!!! Rob couldn't understand why he was getting so spooked. It was just an old trunk. Then his eye fell on the large lump in the center of the lid. He slowly moved in, and blew and gently brushed the dust away. Gasping he jumped back before re-aiming the stinger at the lump. Here on the lid of the trunk was a large wax seal, similar to the one sealing the note, but different. It was somewhat larger, cast in a dark red maroon wax, and depicted a very gruesome deaths head.


End file.
